


Exit Wounds

by majorshipper



Series: and sexy times were had by all [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Drama, F/M, Hate Sex, Light breathplay, Rough Sex, light bloodplay, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorshipper/pseuds/majorshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to White Knuckles; Emma bares her heart, makes some choices, and maybe mends some fences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> My complete apologies for how long this has taken to write. It's been a pain in the ass; a wonderful pain in the ass, but one nonetheless. I expect at least one more installment in this series, though hopefully this ending isn't as bad as the last one. (Right, guys? Right? *echoes*)

_I'm falling through the doors of the emergency room  
Can anybody help me with these exit wounds?_

 

It had been months since she’d seen him, but she would recognize the shape of his back, that tousled head of hair, the line of those shoulders, anywhere. And, after all, she had come here looking for _him_. She knew he had been staying away from the Rabbit Hole, staying away from her, and this was the only other place in town where you could get a decent drink.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. She wasn’t sure how to go about this. Hell, the only thing she _was_ sure of was the gaping hole inside her that had only been growing, gnawing at her insides and threatening to consume her since that night. At first she’d thought it was just guilt, mixed and confusing, both for what she’d done _to_ him and what she’d done _with_ him. It wasn’t like she’d fallen right back into Neal’s arms; they’d gone slow, or as slow as two people who already had a child together could go, but she prided herself in being the kind of person that made their mind up about something and then committed to that something (or someone). She’d thought maybe he was the one to fill that gaping hole, the edges sore and torn. 

But the weeks had proven her wrong, _so wrong_. Just like all those years ago, she’d made the wrong choice. And she had paid for it both times.

They had both changed so much, and last week when she’d curled herself up on the couch and suggested that this wasn’t working out, he’d agreed, a long moment of silence following the words. And then he’d stood up and gone to their bedroom to pack up his things.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care about him, that she didn’t still _love_ him. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to work, for Henry. It wasn’t any one thing. They just didn’t _fit_ anymore, two people who had once flowed so smoothly now reshaped and crooked. 

He’d wanted to get married; she hadn’t. She had wanted to pretend he had never left her; he couldn’t stop trying to make up for it. He slept on her side of the bed, he tried to make her talk, he tried to _understand_ her. The fact that he had to _try_ so hard was the harshest reminder. It had made her desperate to not think about the one person who had so effortlessly managed to see through her walls like they were glass.

They loved each other, but she had started to realize that maybe they loved the idea of each other more than the actual people they had become.

It didn’t seem fair that while he was trying to go back to the past all she could think about was how her future didn’t seem to be going according to plan.

Emma sighed. There was no reason to dwell on her mistakes, many though they were. Killian was sitting at the bar, shoulders hunched over, good hand laid out on the bartop in front of him.

He looked...well, like shit. She could barely make out the lines of his face, half turned away from the door, but from what she could see, it was obvious.

She had spent a lot of time around him; it was easy to recognize the slump of his shoulders and the way he played with his glass. A tiny selfish part of her wanted to believe it was because of her, but the rational side of her brain knew that was absurd.

For a moment, she hesitated.

He wouldn't be happy to see her, that much she knew. But how bad could it be?

Finally deciding, she strode up behind him and planted one hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention away from his half-finished drink. Before he had a chance to register who she was, she leaned in to kiss him, pressing her mouth hard against his.

He responded at first, as though he was used to sitting at bars and being kissed by random people. But then he seemed to realize who she was, the gears clicking and whirring, and his hand came up to her cheek, his mouth slowing against hers. His fingers brushed across the top of her cheekbone for just a moment, and then he pushed, hard, knocking her away from him. She stumbled and barely caught herself on the barstool next to his, surprised at his reaction. 

She’d expected something, but not exactly _that_.

“What do you think you’re doing, Emma?” He rasped out, his hand going back to his drink, his gaze turning back to the liquid as he took a sip. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but before she could, he continued. “Actually, no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” 

Her mouth snapped shut, jaw clenching painfully. She felt terrible, unsteady and unsure. What had she even been thinking, coming to him? He didn’t want her anymore. She hadn’t just burned that bridge, she fucking blown it to pieces.

Maybe he never had, maybe she had just manufactured the hurt in his eyes all those nights ago, maybe he’d just been disappointed to lose a fuck buddy. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, because it was all she _could_ say. Even to her own ears it sounded pitiful. He snorted, the sound jarring.

“Well, that makes it all better, let’s go back to your place and you can show me just how _sorry_ you are.”

She snapped her eyes up, unsure if he was being serious or not. “Is that what you want?” 

“‘Is that what you want’,” he mimicked her, his voice rising. “Fuck, Emma, _no_ , that’s not what I want, are you even _listening_ to yourself?” He scrubbed at his face, fingers curling over his mouth for a moment before he dropped his fist into his lap. When he spoke again, his voice was low, an emotion tangled in his words that she didn’t want to examine too closely. “I was gonna be the one person who didn’t leave you. And then you had to go and beat me to the bloody punch.” 

“Hook...” She trailed off miserably, unsure of what to say, if there was anything she _could_ say to that.

“Save it.” He downed the last of his drink, slamming the glass against the bar. “Just be glad I’m not gonna demand you fuck me in an alley and then cut you out of my life.” The words were acidic and bitter, and Emma flinched.

Okay, she deserved that. She deserved that and a lot more, in fact. But he didn’t seem to be inclined to give it to her, rising from his seat enough to reach into his pocket and pull out a couple bills that he slid across the counter next to his empty tumbler.

“You don’t get to barge back into my life for a romp in the sheets just because you made a choice you don’t want to live with,” he said flatly, all the anger gone from his voice, and that made it _worse_ , because if there was anything to said about Killian Jones, he was _passionate_. That was part of why they’d been so great in bed together, in fact. 

But now it’s nothing, his words carrying....nothing, except maybe a hint of exhaustion. 

It hurt even more than she’d been expecting, that where once he’d spoken to her with amusement, lust, anger, affection, shades of everything in between, now he could only give her the disaffected tone of someone who was beyond caring. 

“Wait, please,” she reached out to grab his wrist when he turned to go. “Please, just, let me explain.” She knew she sounded desperate, pleading, but she didn’t care. She had so many things to say, and no idea how to make him listen.

He froze under her grip, his eyes turning to hers for the first time since she’d surprised him with her kiss. 

What she saw there dropped the bottom out from under her. They were cold, sharp like ice, disinterested and entirely unamused. 

“Killian...” she tried one last time, using the name she hadn’t ever dared while they were together. 

For just a second, something flickered across his face, but it was gone before she could place it. He yanked his arm out of her grip, his voice a dark growl.

“You don’t get to call me that, _Sheriff_. Have a good night.” 

And then he was gone. 

It took a long moment for what had just happened to sink in. And when it did, all Emma could feel was a crushing sense of finality. She settled against the bar, falling into the seat so recently vacated by its previous inhabitant.

She needed a drink. A stiff one. Or five.

 

*****

 

“I swear to god, Hook, if you don’t open this goddamn door, I’m kicking it in!” Emma pounded her fist against the wood again, rattling the door on its hinges. She was either far too drunk or not drunk enough at all for this, but come hell or nasty temperamental pirates who justifiably wanted nothing to do with her, she was going to make her reasons known.

She was gonna explain herself if it was the last thing she did.

“If you _touch_ my ship, you’ll regret it, Swan,” Hook growled, suddenly yanking the door open. He stood in the small opening, blocking the way inside completely. Emma shoved the door, trying to push it open, but he held his place. “What do you _want_ , love?” 

He looked exhausted and drained; instead of venom, there was resignation in his voice. 

“We need to talk.” 

At that, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really, now? _Do_ we? I seem to recall you being simply _desperate_ to _not_ talk the last time we had a late-night encounter.” The words had taken on an acerbic quality, one that Emma’s shredded nerves and light-head found incredibly obnoxious. 

She narrowed her eyes and widened her stance, shifting her hands to her hips. “Just shut up and let me say what I came here to say, okay? But I’m not leaving until I do. You’ll have to physically _throw_ me off your ship if you want me to go before I’m damn well ready to go.” And she meant it. She had sought him out to _talk_ , and as much as she knew she had no right to demand anything of him, she did it anyway.

He smirked hollowly, taking a step forward through the open door, enough to attempt to loom over her.

“Who says I won’t?”

Emma tilted her chin up to him, refusing to give an inch, even when she felt his breath ghosting across her skin.

“Because that would mean actually laying a finger on me. And we both know you’d rather jump into mermaid-infested waters than actually _touch_ me again.”

He narrowed his eyes, gaze turning sharp and one hundred percent _Hook_. “That’s because the very _touch_ of you corrupts, _darling_. And I have no plan to fall into that trap again,” he spat out.

For one long minute, they stood there, toe to toe, staring each other down, daring each other to give in first.

Something flickered in his eyes, then, too fast for Emma to recognize it, and he stepped aside, one arm sarcastically beckoning her towards the open door. 

“Thank you,” she said, mustering as much politeness as she could, considering the heat of their argument, before she shouldered past him and into his room.

Memories hit her like a ton of bricks the second she was past the threshold. The smell of him that always seemed to remind her of sex and laughter permeated the air, deep and unrelenting. She sucked in a quick breath and heaved it out just as fast. Through the haze of the alcohol she’d consumed she was starting to realize this might not have been the best idea. She’d been here dozens of times before, fucked him on every surface, was intimately aware of exactly how big his cabin was compared to the rest of the ship, and yet she could feel the walls closing in, tightly pressing in against her.

That sinking feeling hit bottom when she heard the door slide shut behind her, sealing them both in.

 _Fuck_.

“Say what you came to say,” Hook said quietly, giving her a wide berth as he headed towards his desk, where a half-empty bottle of rum was sitting. He picked it up and took a swig straight, seemingly unaffected by what Emma knew from experience was some _strong_ alcohol. “And then you can get the fuck out of my life.” Shooting a glare at her, he spun and sat himself down in the chair pulled up next to the desk. “Again,” he added with a sneer, unable to resist.

Sighing, Emma took another deep breath and let it out, trying to organize her thoughts into something comprehensible. She was a hot mess, and she knew it. There were a million things to say, but only one thing to start with.

“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Her pride was currently screaming at her, but her pride had gotten her into this mess in the first place, so it could pipe the fuck down. “I used you and I hurt you and I lied to you, and I’m sorry. I was stupid, and I thought I was making the best choice.” He didn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on the wall across from him, his profile the only hint she had of what he was thinking.

“I thought if I just pretended long enough and hard enough that everything would be okay. And then Neal came back.” At that, he flinched. If she hadn’t been looking for it, she wouldn’t have noticed. “It doesn’t matter what he and I had. I still screwed up. I screwed _us_ up. You and me, we had something, and it scared me. God,” she took a deep breath and scrubbed at her face. “It scared the shit out of me.”

“I was so scared of how I was starting to feel. Like maybe we could have had something too.I know the only reason it hurt you was because you felt something too. So...I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you.” Emma straightened her back and shifted her shoulders back. “I’m won’t apologize what I did _with_ you. But I’m sorry for what I did _to_ you.”

“Is that all?” Hook shifted, turning his head, finally, to look at her. His expression was hard, still, sneer solidly in place

Emma planted her lips in a firm line and nodded. “Yeah, that’s all.” 

“Good.” He rose, shifting his weight forward as he slipped his hand back to grab the bottle of rum. “Then you can get off my ship now, can’t you?” The bottle sloshed as he swung around, fingers so tight around the neck that she could see the white of his knuckles.

For a moment, she was incredulous. “That’s it? Don’t you have anything to say? I just fucking bared my heart to you, and that’s all you want to say to me?” Emma couldn’t help it, the alcohol was fucking with her, and he was on her last nerve. She hurt him, but that didn’t give him the excuse to be a complete and utter asshole.

The back of her mind insisted that he _did_ have a right to be as much of an asshole as he wanted, so long as he was an asshole with _her_.

“I don’t have anything to tell you, Emma,” he snapped, swallowing a mouthful of rum. He reeked of the stuff, but she knew better than to assume he was drunk. The man could hold his alcohol to a startling degree. Or, not that startling, considering what he was. 

It finally seemed to seep through to her mind that he was telling her to leave. He wanted her out of his life for good this time. He didn’t want her anymore. Her chest felt like it was going to explode, or maybe crumble in on itself, she wasn’t not entirely sure, and it made her simultaneously embarrassed and enraged.

“Why? Why the _fuck_ not? What were you planning on telling me that night, then? Nothing?” The words flew from her lips without her consent, though once they were out, she refused to take them back. 

Hook took a step forward, and then another, until he was breathing down her neck practically, far into her personal space.

“Because, darling,” he said with barely contained ferocity, “I’m still furious with you. If you think for _one second_ your middling apologies change that, you’re more of a fool than I ever thought.” His lips curled and he leaned back far enough to tip his bottle upside down and gulp down what little was left as he turned away from her.

Emma was confused. It didn’t make sense for him to be so upset. “Why?”

His eyes widened and he let out a strangled curse, whirling on her hard. Before she knew it, the bottle in his hand smashed into the wall behind her, and she flinched away from the crash. He stalked back to her, long strides full of fury. When he reached her, she flinched again, but he kept coming, his fingers digging painfully into her arm.

“Why, Emma? Why indeed, little _princess_ ,” he sneered. “You took something from me. I don’t like people taking things from me.” A dark smile graced his lips. “Comes with being a pirate, you see. But you did more than that. You _abandoned_ me, just as you did on that god-forsaken beanstalk. You took the _one_ good thing in my life and you tore it to _shreds_!” He was roaring now, advancing forward with every word, pushing Emma in front of him until her shoulders hit the door and there was no more room to escape. Her eyes widened involuntarily, wincing as his grip increased.

“All the apologies in the world don’t matter, because you still _left_. You turned me out in a fucking _alley_ and lied to my _face_. So forgive me for not wanting to _play nice_ with you, Emma,” he growled.

In all the time Emma had known him, he had never been so terrifying. He was Hook, through and through. It wasn’t just a name anymore. Here he was, in the flesh, living and breathing and smelling like salt and rum even as he pressed bruises into her upper arm. But still, she saw something. Hurt flickering behind the anger, the twist of his lips she knew all too well. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but she knew whatever she said would probably decide what happened between them from now on.

“I don’t care. I want _you_.” She took a deep breath and raised her hand, brushing it past his arm to rest on his cheek. “I’m making my choice. For bad or good.”

Something flickered across his face before he released her and took one huge step back, turning away from her, his hand falling to his face.

“Get out, Emma. I don’t want to have this discussion.”

She didn’t move from the door, still trying to process his apparent emotional whiplash.

“Why not? Are you suddenly too good for explanations!?” Her voice raised of its own volition, but she couldn’t say she was exactly happy with his rejection.

Just as fast as his move away, Hook returned to her, and this time his fingers slid around her throat and jaw, pushing the back of her skull flat against the wood at her back. It wasn’t enough to cut off her air, but she could feel it, the way he was holding back. He leaned in, tipping his head towards her until their foreheads were touching and his lips were a hair's breadth from her own.

“Don’t you dare make assumptions about me. Maybe I just don’t want to be around you.” His voice dropped then, slipping into a purr. “Maybe I just want to make you feel how I felt. Maybe I just want to fuck you and throw you away. Maybe,” he continued, pressing the rest of his body against hers, “I just want to see you _cry_.”

But Emma knew better. She knew _him_ better. 

“You won’t though.” Slowly, it dawned on her. “That’s why you want me gone.” 

He pressed further, tightening his fingers around her neck before he let out a frustrated sound, his palm resting against her collarbone as the moment broke. “You always were too bloody smart for you own good, weren’t you?” 

She chuckled, then, mirthlessly. “And you’re too damn stubborn for _your_ own good.”

They stayed like that, pressed together against the wood, pretending they hadn't been there before, in that very position, doing so many _other_ things.

After a minute of just watching him, watching the flood of emotions simmer behind his eyes, she blinked and pulled herself together. Slowly, she reached up for his hand, pressing her fingers tightly over his.

“I’m not scared of you.” Instead of slipping away from him, she leaned in further, enough to brush her lips against his lightly. He shuddered and his eyes slipped closed at the movement, his fingers tightening involuntarily under hers. “Do your worst, captain.” 

He froze, eyes still shut.

“Emma,” he breathed warningly. “You need to go. Now.”

She ignored him, ignored his pleas. It felt selfish, it felt wrong, but she didn’t care. 

She didn’t care. 

Not releasing his hand from her neck, she shifted enough to place her opposite hand on his cheek, to draw him in. He could have pulled away, she knew, but he wouldn’t. Even like this, they were each other’s weakness.

After one final moment of silence, she slid forward, heedless of the press of his body, the way his fingers curled into her skin, and kissed him. She slipped her hand around to the back of his skull, holding him against her as she mercilessly teased his bottom lip with her teeth, tugging on it until he opened his mouth with a groan, teeth and tongues clashing as he pressed back into her. 

For a second she could have sworn something rumbled in his chest, a half-aborted sound, but it was gone, and in that moment, he pushed forward. His hand shifted under hers, sliding back up her neck enough to pin her there effortlessly. Blood pounded in her ears as she slid her hand up his arm, gripping his shoulder as she leveraged her feet off the floor and around his waist. He grunted under her, and leaned his full body weight against her and the door behind her. Between that and the press of his hand, she was starting to see grey at the corners of her vision, gasping for air even as he bit down on her lip and then rolled his tongue against it, lapping at the touch of copper that spilled out. Emma groaned and shifted her hips down against his hard, desperate for some friction, anything to change. 

Abruptly, he tore himself away, fingers squeezing one last time before he pulled away completely and her feet hit the deck with a dull thunk. She blinked. That wasn’t exactly the kind of movement she’d wanted. 

“Get out, Emma,” he sounded desperate and angry, voice low. “You’re drunk and you’re going to do something else you’ll regret.” 

Anger sprang to life in Emma as he spoke, his fingers clutching tightly at his hook, as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“How many times do I have to tell you, you goddamn pirate?” She pushed herself off the wall, snatching away his hand, pulling him back towards her. “I don’t care.” Without warning, she knotted her fingers in his coat and pulled him back to her, lips crashing together.

This time, despite his protests, there was no hesitation. He slammed her back into the wall, the oxygen in her lungs leaving her fast. She didn’t have a chance to react, to breathe, because he was thrusting his tongue into her mouth harshly, tangling with her own and forcing her into submission. He growled into her mouth, and in one movement, shifted his hand and hook to her ass, spinning them both away from the wall unceremoniously. They crashed into the bed, and he released her without warning, dropping her onto the messy sheets. 

She couldn’t focus on him, not when she was sucking down mouthfuls of air. That’s why, when he shifted over her, his fingers deftly moving over the buttons of her shirt under her open jacket, she barely noticed. 

She did notice, though, when he gave up and just tore it open, the fabric tearing loudly as he moved forward, sealing his lips over her neck. At first, he just nipped and sucked at the spot, but then he bit down, hard enough to be painful. Emma gasped and scrambled her fingers against his skin, but he refused to move, sucking and nipping at the stinging skin.

“Strip,” he growled against her ear, and then pulled away from her entirely, leaving her alone on the sheets. She looked up at him, confused, for a moment, but then he slipped his hook through the waistband of her jeans, tearing a hole under the belt loops as he hauled her hips up by it. “I said, _strip_. _Now_.” He ripped his hook out, tearing through the fabric with some effort, her hips following the motion until she fell back against the bed as the fabric gave way.

Quickly, she leaned forward, dropping her arms enough to slide out of her jacket and ruined shirt. Once they were gone, she reached behind her back with one hand to unclasp her bra while the other went for her boots, easing them off. Finally she attacked her jeans, wrenching them off as fast as she could. 

When she had enough sense to look back up at him, she froze. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected, but him just _standing_ there, _watching_ her was nowhere on the list.

Slowly, he moved forward, effortlessly slipping between her parted legs. 

“You’re a bad listener, Emma.” His fingers returned to her neck, brushing at the spot where he’d bitten down. She didn’t realize where his hook was until she felt the cool metal sliding between her legs, and then it was there, the curve sliding between her legs and under her panties to brush at her folds. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the underwear, splitting them and tossing them away without a second glance. “When I said strip, I meant _naked_ ,” he growled, replacing his fingers with his mouth as he sucked and bit across her shoulder, causing her to moan and writhe up under him. His fingers skated down her body, finally slipping between her legs, and before she could register it, he pushed one into her, thrusting shallowly. 

She whimpered when he moved lower, nipping at the curve of his breast as he picked up speed, adding another finger and shifting the angle at her wanton sound. It wasn’t fair that she already ached for him, that her hips curled up against him even knowing that whatever he had planned wasn’t going to end well. Maybe she wanted that. When she moaned again, loose and needy, he chuckled and pulled away from her chest. Her skin burned where his rough beard had rubbed at it, and he slipped his fingers out of her, bringing them to his lips slowly. His eyes were dark and dangerous as his tongue flicked out and quickly licked them clean. She didn’t know what was happening; all she knew was the heat circling in her belly and the way his gaze raked over her, hungry and burning.

“Do you remember what I told you, Emma?” 

His words jolted her, and she blinked, trying to understand what he was talking about.Obviously noting her confusion, he raised an eyebrow and grabbed her knee roughly, pulling until she slid off the bed and onto her knees, caught between him and the bed. 

While his hook came up under her chin, tilting her face forward, his hand sunk to his belt, yanking it open. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the realization of what he was planning. It wasn't that they'd never done this, in a bed, but Emma had once made a promise to never be at a disadvantage with this man, never in the uncomfortable position of having no control, and right now she knows he's entirely at his mercy. Sure, she could get up and walk out, but she stubbornly refused to end them like this. She didn't want to walk away from him again.

Fisting her hands at her sides, she met his gaze challengingly. It would take a lot more to make Emma Swan run.

He didn’t say anything, just slipped his hook up to her cheek as he drew himself out of his pants. To Emma’s surprise, he was only half-hard, though she supposed the point of this exercise was to change that. When she shifted to bring her arm up to grasp him, he moved, finally, his hook pushing her arm down as he moved his hand back to her cheek, pushing his thumb against the center of her lips. She shot him a glare, but opened her mouth anyway when he pressed against her teeth. 

Slowly, he slipped himself between her lips, inch by inch, until he was hitting the back of her mouth and she wanted to push him off of her. It seemed like such a contrast compared to his anger earlier, his slow rocking movements practically gentle as his hand slid to the back of her neck. Without warning, though, he wrapped his fingers around her hair and thrust forward, pulling her towards him, pushing into her throat. Her hands shot up, scrambling for purchase against his thighs, but the leather made it impossible to hang on, and his thrusts were hard and fast now, would be shaking her off if it wasn’t for his hand in her hair, pulling her against him with every movement. 

She couldn't breathe, couldn't focus, and the worst part was there was a dark thought edging in in her, that she deserved to be treated like this. That maybe that was all he wanted. That she should just accept it and go back to being alone.

He pushed further into her mouth, pulling her against him until her nose was against stomach and she started to choke around him, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. Finally, she grasped onto that part that did _care_ , and decided to take action, scrabbling across his thighs until she found his belt loops. She yanked him forward, throwing him off as she pulled him deeper, swallowing as best as she could before she pressed back against his hand and pulled off him with a wet sound. 

He didn’t hesitate, wrenching her up by her arm so he could press against her, devouring her hungrily like she was going to disappear at any second. His hook dug into her hip, the point scratching at her bare skin. She groaned into his mouth and at the sound he pulled against her tighter, the dull pressure of the point of his hook spiking abruptly as she felt it break skin. As quickly as it had happened, the pain blossomed and then fell silent. He refused to release her, hand sliding around the side of her neck, half caress, half threat.

But she gave as good as she got. Before she’d met him she knew how to kiss, but since that day in Neverland he’d managed to teach her how to kiss like a pirate, taking and fighting and _plundering_ like it was a sport. She used every trick she’d ever learned, throwing her weight against him as they kissed. His thumb pressed against the center of her throat, but she refused to back down. He growled into her mouth and changed tactics, breaking away from her and shoving her down, back to her knees. This time, he followed, pressing her over until she was flat on her back on the hard deck and he was looming over her.

He dropped his head, finding the cut on her side, licking at the small line of blood until he hit the cut. She arched up against him, her hips hitting his chest as the pain spiked through her, but he didn’t budge, sucking on the cut until she could feel the skin prickling around his mouth. Slowly, he moved up her side, pausing every so often to nip and bite at her bare skin, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. He reached the underside of her breasts and nosed at the curve of skin briefly before he rose up over her and pressed into her mouth, his fingers slipping into her hair and pulling her up off the floor so he could control the kiss. Emma wrapped her fingers around his shirt, hanging on for dear life. 

His hand shifted lover, to cradle the curve of her neck, and he moved his lips down her neck, practically gentle, but she could feel his length against her thigh, hot and desperately pressing into her. She didn’t know why he didn’t just get on with it; she was embarrassingly wet for him, even despite(or because of) his roughness. It was impossible to determine what he was doing, or where he was going, but she decided to take the initiative and she pulled on his shirt, trying to jerk it up over his head. For once, he allowed her to do it, lifting off of her so he could pull it off. He leaned back on his knees and yanked his pants down his thighs before kicking them off and returning to hover over her, finally as naked as her.

“Gods above, Emma, the things I could do to you,” he rasped out, the words low and dark and yet still, she felt her skin grow hotter, pulse racing. He brushed his fingers across her side, the angry red cut and the trail of mouth-shaped marks that decorated her skin. She felt herself shiver under his touch with no idea of what he was going to do next. Instead of fearing it, she decided to embrace it. He would never hurt her; not really. He was angry and hurting right now, blamed her for all the right reasons.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when his fingers brushed over her chest, briefly pausing to palm a breast roughly before he curled his fingers around the back of her neck, drawing her forward until she was on her knees in front of him again, this time face to face. But he wasn’t satisfied, apparently, using his hand and his hook(the curve, this time) to manhandle her around until her back was pressed against his chest. With his left arm, he held her tight around the waist, pressing her against him, and with his left, he pressed against her breast, rolling it in his palm before kneading and tugging, his actions far from gentle. Emma cried out and twisted in his arms, though she knew for a fact she didn’t want to get away. All he was doing was feeding the fire that turned over in her belly, begging to be satisfied.

Another moan, deeper this time, escaped her as he moved to her other breast, paying it the same attention, and she dropped her head back on his shoulder, overwhelmed by the sensation. His breath was coming hard against her neck, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her from behind, slipping against her ass as she writhed against him. 

“God, Hook,” she groaned, sure she would have bruises from the way he was touching her, but it felt amazing, heady. Maybe she was punishing herself; maybe she was that twisted.

Maybe they were each other’s perfect match.

His lips danced across her skin before rising to the curve of her ear, nibbling at it. “Do you want me to fuck you, Emma? Right here? Just like this?” Shifting behind her, he shoved his knee between her parted thighs, spreading them further apart until she was off balance, his steady presence behind her the only thing saving her from face planting on the deck. He rocked his hips against her backside, cock slipping between her legs, sliding between her open thighs. It was maddening, the way he brushed against her entrance with every move but refused to change the angle to slip inside of her. 

“I don’t care, I swear to god, I don’t care, I need you, I _want_ you,” she whimpered, rubbing back against him as she tried to grind her hips down. 

“Emma,” he growled, his movements faltering for just a moment. And then his hand sunk down between her legs and he was pressing himself into her, her own slickness making it nearly impossible. Once the tip was in, he shifted his hand to her hip, pulling her down slowly, the movement pulling her legs taut as she was slowly slid into him. God, it was amazing, her legs were spread so far she could feel her thighs starting to tremble and they hadn’t even started. It would have been uncomfortable, the intimate angle, if she didn’t feel so utterly wanton, wet and needy, desperate to have him inside her. It had been so long, too long since she had had him.

He kept that speed, painfully slow, inch by inch as she sunk down on him. When he finally settled, hips pressed tight against her, she took a deep breath and released it, forcing herself to breathe in and out. He felt impossibly far inside of her, tight and deep and she _ached_ around him, but it was delicious, and all she wanted was for him to move. 

Restlessly, she shifted her hips, trying to urge him on, and he growled, the sound deep and low in his chest, reverberating through Emma where she was pressed against him. His hand quickly found its way to her hair, and he fisted a handful of it, yanking her head back against him, his lips tantalizingly close to her ear, his breathing harsh and heavy.

“I’m going to give you everything I didn’t get a chance to that night, Emma. I’m going to push you down until your fingernails scrape on my deck and your knees protest and your thighs shake, and I’m going to _take_ you. I’m going to revel in every delicious inch of you under me. I’m going to split you in two; fuck you like you _begged_ me to. You’re going to come on my cock inside you, stretching you open, fucking you so deep you won’t be able to _breathe_.” God, it was too much. She moaned again, pressing against him, anything to relieve the ache, and his grip on her hair tightened, pulling her neck back until it was stretched uncomfortably, offered up to him on a golden platter. 

“Don’t make it worse, darling.” His lips pressed against the expanse of exposed skin, tongue flicking against the column of her neck. He nipped at the skin, and then, without warning, bit down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. It wasn’t enough to break skin, but she _felt_ it, a hot burn that shot right to her core. Involuntarily, she flinched, the action pulling him further inside of her. 

“Fuck,” she whimpered, the words feeling tight as they slipped past her lips. Where she had felt relaxed, now she felt as though she was strung between two high buildings, ready to be snapped back, ready to fall. 

Hook released her hair, tipping her forward with his body in the same motion so that she had no choice but to fall to her hands and knees. She shifted, trying to bring her legs together to regain some sense of balance, but suddenly his fingers were back in her hair, jerking it tight enough to pull her head back again. He leaned forward, pressing himself along her back even as he shifted inside of her, and she wanted to sob. It was a wave of too many emotions to name, too many sensations. 

“Don’t move,” was all he said, the words a deep rumble. She nodded desperately and tried to suck in air, the angle he was holding her at making it difficult.

Slowly, he rocked out of her, and she grit her teeth, the act of holding her hips back practically driving her crazy. Just as agonizingly slow, he slid back into her, and again, motions carefully controlled. 

She wanted to hit him; he’d promised _fucking_ , not this, not this slow rocking, like his goddamn ship under her. Her clit burned to be touched, and she ached where he was pressing into her, the small movements nowhere near enough. He was torturing her, trying to turn her into a crying mess, and it was working. She whined, a long sound that slipped past her lips without her consent, and that’s what he seemed to be looking for, because the next time he thrust into her, it was hard and punishing, his hips snapping against hers like a piston. 

Her fingers and knees skidded away from him, the force of his actions enough to jolt her body. She tried to brace her palms against the wood, but it was useless. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her hips, pulling her back against him and holding her there as he fucked into her, fast and deep. God, she could feel tears stinging at the back of her eyes, and she let them come, let it wash over her. Every thrust was hitting her hard, deep in her belly, the discomfort mixing with her arousal as it crashed over her in waves. She couldn’t breathe, just as he’d said; each gasp felt like it wasn’t enough, and she felt like she was on fire, her skin burning hot and slick as the sounds of their skin slapping together reached her. 

“That’s it, Emma,” he grunted, refusing to cease or even slow his thrusts. “Feel that? That’s what you wanted, right? A quick dirty fuck.” He draped his body over her, the extra weight making her elbows wobble as she tried to accommodate him. “You’re trembling, princess,” he whispered, nipping at her back. His hand came down next to hers, bracing himself over her, and he pulled her even tighter against him with his other arm, pressing down over her hips, enough that she felt the added pressure on her belly with every thrust of his. 

She swore and cursed, words she didn’t recognize but that she had probably picked up from him flying out of her with the increasing tempo of his movements. She was so close, so tight, it would take almost nothing to send her over the edge. Everything ached; her legs were shaking, the muscles ready to give out the instant they had a chance. 

He continued on, nothing but the sounds of her curses and his hard breathing mixing with the sound of his hips snapping against hers with every movement. 

Next to her hand, his curled, fingers scratching against the deck, and she could tell he was close. Just barely over the sound of their bodies moving together, she heard him, a low growl, and that was it for her. Blazing lights, rocket’s red glare, and she was pretty sure her brain was shorting out as she came, white burning across her eyelids as she squeezed her eyes shut. Dimly, she registered that someone was sobbing and it was probably her, but she was shaking and flying and he was still pounding into her, the pressure twisting and stretching her orgasm out like it was taffy.

His thrusts became shorter and even more powerful, if that was possible, incredibly fast as he chased his own release. Emma was busy savoring the high, the way her body refused to come down. Without warning, he stilled over her, his whole body locking up as his came. He muttered something, but she didn’t catch it. Suddenly, his weight was spread across her back, and it was too much. She collapsed to her stomach, and he fell on top of her, crushing her flat into the deck. It was hard to breathe, but she couldn’t find it in herself to shove him off of her, to move. She felt sated and bone-weary; she hadn’t been fucked like that in a long time, if ever, and while it was _amazing_ , she was also well aware of the fact that there was no way she would be able to drag herself back home. The only sounds between them was their breathing as it slowed and they tried to return their racing hearts to something resembling normal. 

Eventually he shifted over her, drawing his legs up under himself enough to rise off of her. She couldn’t really claim responsibility for it, but she took pride in the fact that his legs wobbled noticeably as he shuffled over to his bed and slid into it. Her eyes followed his movements, and though he didn’t meet her gaze, after a moment, his voice drifted down to her.

“Are you planning on staying down there?” She couldn’t read the tone, but it wasn’t anger anymore. He sounded more exhausted than anything. 

“I’m considering it,” she admitted drowsily, allowing her head to fall back down. The floor was hard and unforgiving, a sensation she was all too familiar with already; her knees _hurt_ and she doubted she would be walking normally tomorrow. But at the same time, the idea of standing up seemed incredibly daunting right now. 

He seemed content with her answer, or too wrapped up in himself to question her further, because it was silent for several more moments. Finally, Emma felt like she could move again, and she carefully slid her leg up under her, wincing when she bent her knee. Yeah, definitely gonna be walking with a limp. But she knew from experience how soft and warm his bed was, and it was beckoning to her, calling her name softly. 

It was also possible she was imagining things. 

Thankfully, it was a single step and a short tumble into the bed, and once in it, she let out a massive sigh, instantly relaxing into the softness. 

Hook had his back to her, his shoulder a stiff wall between them. 

That was fine; she didn’t really want to talk right now. She wanted to sleep, and maybe wake up to a glass of water and an aspirin and some fucking sense in her life.

Part of her regretted coming here, forcing him, forcing his hand. But here she was, lying next to him, even if he _was_ ignoring her. He hadn’t kicked her out, and that was a good sign. Knowing he was still awake despite what he was pretending, she sighed and turned herself on her side facing him, tucking her hand under her pillow.

“Goodnight, Hook,” she murmured. 

Nothing but silence greeted her, but she had expected that, and so she let her eyes drift shut and relaxed bonelessly into the sheets. She was out like a light in minutes, and she didn’t notice when his body shifted, rolling over so he could see her.

She certainly didn’t notice when his fingers brushed across hers where they were splayed flat on the mattress between them. 

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes fell shut as well, his fingers still pressed up against hers, the only point where they were touching.


End file.
